The Steadfast Tin Soldier
by Pekenota14
Summary: The Red Room didn't wipe away all of Natasha's memories. She remembers something... on her birthday. But she doesn't get to be upset about it; somebody else is with her and as always turns her life around. Clintasha, single chapter.


**I hope you guys can find this song on YouTube; it's the song that the music box plays.**

/watch?v=mtU46q9hGS0

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Natasha finally surrenders to sleep. Her heavy eyes slowly shut as she watches the snowflakes falling outside the window pane. She's taken to a dream.

It's cold and she shivers. She looks down and notices she's barefoot. When she trod the floorboards, they creak, rigid and dry perhaps because of the coldness. It's a long hall, appearing that there's nothing ahead her. She looks behind and there's nothing but pitch black. People dream about people and places they've been before but she has no memory of that place at all. That's when she, subconsciously, understands that she's not dreaming; she's remembering something.

It wouldn't be the first that memories would come up to her head. The Red Room wasn't 100% effective in wiping memories away. No matter how much they've played with her brain, there's still things can't be erased or ran over. The human brain isn't a computer.

Natasha walks along the corridor, finding a door slightly open. She peers and all she can see is a window and snow falling outside, and part of a bed. The bed is empty, but she remembers it too well. The footboard is metallic, white, she remembers. The blanket is dark blue, and so it gains color as she evokes the thought on her head. The room is dark, it's night outside and she sees a figure sitting on the edge of the bed, back turned to the door. She has something her hands. Natasha listens to the sound of a windup key winding up spring motor. It's a music box.

Delicate hands perform that act. She can't, however, see the face of that person who she believes to be a woman. The music box is placed over the bedside table, the woman opens the lid of the box and a ballerina starts dancing.

The music that plays is disconcerting. It is beautiful enough to shatter a heart into a thousand pieces. Acute piano notes pierce Natasha's heart. It's a beautiful melody that conveys such peace and coolness that is saddening. There is something else in that melody. She has heard it before. Natasha felt her eyes fill with tears and so she decides to close them. The little tune grows more and more inside her. She remembers where she heard; something inside her awoke up.

She opens her eyes. She's no longer herself and she's no longer staring from the door. She's lying on that bed, looking up at the woman whose face she couldn't see. The woman now has a face.

"Мама…" She says.

"Спи, моя прекрасный."

Natasha remembers her mother's face; round and very white. Her lips tremble and she avoids looking into her daughter's eyes. Her wide green eyes gaze her one last time with affection as she runs her fingers through her hair. Both she and her mother are auburn haired.

"Мама!" Natasha begs once more, this time more desperately.

"Я должен идти."

The woman gets up and exits through the door without looking back. Behind her she leaves her daughter, begging for her, in tears.

And that was how she was abandoned in the orphanage.

All she remembers then is getting up fast from the bed and running to the window to see her mother walking away. Snow falls outside and Natasha cries, still muttering мама. And the music box still plays, now annoying her. The ballerina spins around in her dance; one of her legs is raised high into the air. She wears a dress of the lightest gauze, with a dainty little blue ribbon over her shoulders, by way of a scarf, set off by a brilliant spangle as big as her whole face. Natasha yanks her off the box and throws her away.

"Глупый балерина!" She says with teary eyes, looking at the ballerina lying on the floor.

Natasha's eyes slowly open. She's thrown back to the reality of her bed, snow still falls outside; the St. Petersburg Cathedral isn't far as she sees through the window. Of all the missions they could have been assigned, it had to be on _that_ day, in _that_ city.

She didn't know that she had been speaking out loud her thoughts all along. A heavy breathing presence behind makes her roll over in bed. Clint is looking at her, elbow resting on the pillow and head propped on his hand.

"You're alright?" He asks in a husky and low voice.

Natasha nods her head. She boosts her body up, straining on one elbow, places her free hand on his face and pulls him for a slow kiss. She lies down in bed again and lies on her side, back turned to him. Clint licks his lips, savoring the taste of her still lingering on his lips. He takes a deep sigh and lies down as well. Slowly he drags his body closer to her and lets his right arm rest over her hip. She grabs his hand and he freezes, believing she'll push him away. Instead, she pulls him closer. She lightly lifts her head and lets him put his arm under neck.

"Happy birthday, Tasha." He whispers, putting a kiss on her hair.

She draws closer to him, fitting on his arms wrapped around her body frame. Almost being killed three times in a day makes you want to seek for refuge in the arms of someone you know will never turn his back on you.

Natasha doesn't know her birthday. All she knows is the present day; not even the tomorrow she can assure. In fact, little does she know about her life, and so she chose that one day of winter to be her birthday. She's only human; she wants a birthday too, even if all she has (and that for her is far more important than anything else) is the warming presence and embrace of the right person next to her.

She attempts to say something but all the words are useless, except these. "I'm different now… from what I was before…"

"I know." Clint lays a kiss on her bare shoulder and tells her. "And so am I. And I'll always be your brave tin soldier ready to be melted away in a fire and turned into a shape of a tin heart."

"Be cheesier, I dare you."

_The soldier was so much moved that he was ready to shed tears of tin, but that would not have been fitting. (…)_ _The tin soldier stood there, lighted up by the flame, and in the most horrible heat; but whether it was the heat of the real fire, or the warmth of his feelings, he did not know._

"What's cheesier than being burnt and turned into the shape of a small tin heart?"

"That's suicidal, at the very best."

"And at the very worst?"

"It's idiot." Natasha says, chuckling. She rolls on bed and lies face up to look at him.

_He looked at her, and she looked at him, but they said never a word. (…) He looked at the little maiden, and she looked at him; and he felt that he was melting away, but still managed to keep himself erect, shouldering his gun bravely. A door was suddenly opened, the draught caught the little dancer and she fluttered like a sylph, straight into the fire, to the soldier, blazed up and was gone!_

"Hum, I guess I could then I could remain to be your knight in shining armor."

Natasha doesn't smile very often, but when she does, it's the best thing a man can ever gaze. And he smiles back because he likes to make her smile.

"Once the mission is over, we're meeting in Rio." Clint tells her. "We've always loved it there."

Natasha grins and raises her head, seeking for his lips. She places both hands on his face and pulls him. The two kiss and the night has just began for them.

And so the two get lost on each other as snow falls outside, covering with a white blanket the city of St. Petersburg.

_By this time the soldier was reduced to a mere lump, and when the maid took away the ashes next morning she found him, in the shape of a small tin heart. All that was left of the dancer was her spangle, and that was burnt as black as a coal._

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**Pretty much this is it. Hope you guys enjoyed it (I loved writing it). Leave a review! ^_^**


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